Cold Hands, Warm Hearts
by Love Tifa
Summary: Ichigo braves a snow storm to visit a precious nakama; — Ichigo ო Orihime.


**Cold Hands, Warm Hearts**

_ichigo x orihime_

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**I**chigo Kurosaki shuffled awkwardly down the sidewalk through mid-shin deep snow — Winter had come to Karakura Town. The sky was completely gray, covered with a veil of thick clouds. Snowflakes whirled through the bitterly cold air, dancing this way and that in his vision. In preparation for the stormy weather, the teen had donned several layers. His attire consisted of jeans, a polo, a sweatshirt, and a slim-fitting, black jacket; the ensemble wouldn't be complete without a woolen scarf, hat, and gloves. All that could be seen of Ichigo's scowling face were his coppery brown eyes underneath the rim of his hat, and random strands of his orange bangs sticking out.

He was _miserable_, to say the least.

Ichigo hated winter. For one thing, he was frozen even though he was bundled up. He felt cumbersome and ridiculous wearing all of these articles of clothing. He also wasn't the sentimental type. He did not view each falling drop of snow as special or separately beautiful, strewn about by winter's breath — they all looked exactly identical to him. Maybe it was nice to look at when it first fell, coating everything with a layer of glimmering white, but after a while of trudging through the thick, cold snow, it wasn't so much.

It had been snowing off and on all day, but it was steady now, and according to weather forecasts, it was going to get worse. Knowing that only spurred Ichigo to walk faster though, further steeling his resolve.

At first, he had done nothing but scowl and complain when Rukia scolded him about not visiting their mutual friend recently. "She understands that I'm busy!" he huffed defensively, a little too quickly, and the petite woman only glared at him in response. Her sapphire irises flared with unbridled anger as she shouted at him from where she was sprawled out on his bed, reading a shoujo manga in sweet silence just moments before; that is until, she randomly started yelling at him, breaking his rictus concentration on his English homework.

"Idiot! Of course she does! But that's beside the point — "

"When's the last time you visited her one on one, huh, midget?" Ichigo shot back, a vein throbbing in his temple.

Rukia sniffed snobbishly in disdain. "As a matter of fact, I visit her all the time. Because I'm a good friend," she added haughtily. A smirk shone on her facial features when a guilty blush lit up Ichigo's tanned cheeks in response to her obvious dig at his character.

"Shut. Up!" He slammed down his pencil, turned around his seat in front of his desk, and folded his arms across his chest with an annoyed grunt. "You've really gone to visit Inoue by yourself?" he questioned after a heartbeat. When Rukia nodded, his eyebrows dipped downwards, and Ichigo frowned. Hesitatingly, he inquired, "Has she . . . asked about me, or said anything about me not coming around?"

"No, but she doesn't have to." The dark-haired shinigami rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "This is _Orihime_ we're talking about, the girl who never complains about anything. It's not hard to figure out that she is lonely, and it's no wonder given what time of year it is . . ." She trailed off meaningfully, letting her words sink in, and his dark eyes widened instantaneously. "It's almost Christmas, Ichigo. Isn't that the Western holiday where everyone gets together to celebrate with their family?"

"Yeah," he muttered softly. Rukia's rhetorical question in itself was enough to make him feel like shit.

And that was why, ladies and gentlemen, Ichigo Kurosaki was willing to walk in the middle of a freaking snow storm, shivering, and freezing his ass off. All because of Rukia's insistence, and additionally, his conscience refusing to let him delay a much needed visit to a certain auburn-haired girl.

As he neared her street, he heard the scraping rumble of the plow as it went by on its rounds, piling the snow even higher along the side of the road. The snow storm was worsening he noticed, a small gust of wind had picked up, swirling all around his bundled up form. Ichigo raised a hand to keep the icy flakes from hitting his eyes as he turned down the street. _I'm almost there, Inoue,_ he thought.

Ichigo made his way down the side walk, careful to avoid any patches of ice, and not drop the plastic covered container of cookies Rukia have shoved into his hands before sending him on his way. Idly, he recalled that when he opened his mouth to ask if they were poisoned or not, she actually smiled at him in that sparkling way she had adopted for school; then, the door was slammed promptly in his face. The orange-haired teen glanced down, lips tugging slightly upwards, despite himself. For all of her weird quirks and brash antics, Rukia could be sweet . . . when she wanted to be.

Finally at long last, Ichigo arrived in front of the apartment where Orihime lived. He rapped his hand on the door, and not too long afterwards heard a jovial voice call out, "I'm coming!"

There was the sound of hurried footsteps, and a few heartbeats later, the door swung open. The very girl Ichigo had braved the elements for was blinking at him, as if he was a mere phantom, an apparition that she had only seen in long past dreams. Her long, sunset-colored hair swayed gently, her big, gray eyes shining. It was then he saw the diluted diamonds beginning to appear inside of them and before he knew it, her pink mouth trembled dangerously. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lunged forward, embracing him tightly.

"K-Kurosaki-kun!" she cried out, her voice as high and sweet as bells.

He blushed, but awkwardly hugged her back, all while trying not to drop the plate with Rukia's gingerbread cookies he had brought with him. Guilt ate away at him; if she was this happy merely seeing him on her doorstep, did that mean the entire time he had not come to visit her, she was secretly miserable? He knew he should have come around, at least every once in a while. The more he thought about it, the more apparent it was that their other friends had given him hints — some less subtle than others. He didn't know why he had stayed away for as long as he did, but Ichigo resolved then and there, that he would be a better friend to the girl hugging him from now on.

Of all things, she deserved that, at the very least.

Despite the cold, and the swirling, powdery snow, they stayed in that position for a moment. Once Orihime had pulled herself back together, only occasionally sniffling, she jumped back like a frightened rabbit. He quirked an eyebrow at her pinkening face, but did not say anything.

"I'm sorry!" she chirped out, reaching up to wipe away the remnants of her glistening tears. "I'm just so . . . so happy to see you!" She beamed, positively glowing with happiness, and he could not help but return it with a small, tentative smile of his own. It was difficult _not_ to smile around someone as bright and cheerful as Orihime.

"It's all right," he reassured her. Clutching the fabric of his hat, he ripped it off of his head, and then shook his hair vigorously, bits of snow flickering to the sides and then onto the ground. She giggled softly at that, but then stopped when the tremulous shiver that overtook his taller frame caught her eye. "I just, uh, can we go inside?" he asked, almost in embarrassment. He didn't want to seem rude or demanding, but it was pretty cold. The warm air from within her apartment was practically beckoning Ichigo.

She gasped, delicate, small hands fluttering to her mouth. "Un!" she cried, opening the door even wider, and gesturing wildly in the direction of the interior of her apartment. "Yes, yes, of course, come inside!"

He followed her in, and after she closed the door, she spun back around to face him, hair whirling around her in honey-colored streams. "I was just making hot chocolate. I could make you some too, if you'd like."

"Sure, that sounds perfect," he answered, though he shifted uneasily on his feet. Ichigo lifted up the colorfully-covered plate of cookies he had carried with him. "Where do you want these . . . ?" But then Orihime quickly took them from him, smiling all the while.

"I'll take these. We can eat them with the hot chocolate!"

Orihime scurried into the kitchen, and Ichigo sighed with relief. He wasted no time in shedding his winter gear, and taking off his boots before walking sock-clad feet across the floor.

Normally, he would have offered to help his hostess, but he was beat from walking the distance between his house to her apartment against the unrelenting torrents of snow and chilly wind. So he sat there, simply soaking in the warmth he could; he ran a hand fluidly through his spiky hair, patiently waiting until she fixed everything. It did not take too long — now that he was not a half frozen icicle of a person, he actually took in her appearance as she came back in carrying the tray. She was wearing a dark green sweater and a flowing, cream-colored skirt with candy cane designs at the bottom. It was festive, and decidedly very Orihime-like.

Orihime set down two mugs with rich, steaming brown liquid — hot chocolate. He took a sip of the hot, sweet, creamy beverage and a shudder ran through him. He quickly set to draining the cup.

"Kurosaki-kun, don't drink too fast! You could burn your tongue, or even get a stomach ache!" she chided him, but he was already finished drinking his hot cocoa, and reaching over to snatch up a gingerbread cookie. Between exuberant bites, when he glanced her disapproving pout resident on her pretty facial features, Ichigo cracked a goofy grin, crumbs free-falling from his mouth; the result was Orihime desperately trying to maintain a stony-faced façade with her arms folded tightly across her chest, but failing miserably. Not too long after, her mouth wavered before spreading into a sweet smile, sunny laughter bubbling up from within her throat.

"You're so silly!"

Ichigo swallowed down his mouthful of cookie then said, "Coming from you, that's rich." However, his reply was not said without good humor. In fact, Ichigo's own russet eyes twinkled merrily upon seeing Orihime's silvery ones glimmer. Normally the orange-haired teen would feel akin to a total goober acting like this, but with Inoue he felt completely at ease, comfortable with loosening up in her presence. More than that, it was actually worth it to see her look so damn happy.

Orihime bashfully looked downwards at her lap, slanting a shy glimpse at Ichigo through her eyelashes. "I really am glad you came to visit," she said, her voice thick with gratitude and pleasure.

"I am too," Ichigo replied, and he was surprised by how much he meant it.

A comfortable silence fell like a warm blanket over the pair, as they drank from their respective mugs and ate the delicious gingerbread cookies Rukia made. After Orihime took her first bite of the sweet and tender desserts, Ichigo was forced to admit that it was Rukia indeed who was responsible for baking them. When Ichigo said that, Orihime's face shone brighter than the strands of multi-colored, twinkling lights lining each side of the apartment, shining as a welcome to the holiday.

"Kuchiki-san is very talented when it comes to baking!" Orihime gushed. "Do you think she would . . . let me borrow her recipe sometime?"

"It's kind of surprising, but she isn't too bad in the kitchen," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. Actually, that was more than a modest statement. Rukia was _phenomenal_ when it came to cooking, and he and his stomach could attest to that fact personally on various occasions. Ichigo took another bite out of a cookie, and uttered carelessly in response to her question, "And yeah, why not?"

"Ah! That's good. U-Um," Orihime began to say, a stain of crimson spreading across her fair-skinned nose and cheeks. Ichigo furrowed his brows as he watched her inhale a deely, waiting patiently for her to continue. The bright-haired girl looked to still be deliberating even after a minute had passed, nibbling thoughtfully at her bottom lip; then, Orihime finally spoke up again, although her voice came out soft and chime-like with uncertainty. "Would y-you . . . would you want to watch a movie with me? Maybe um, a Christmas-y one, like _Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer_, or _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_? I actually have all of the Western classic holiday movies! Sora and I used to watch them together every year during this time; Tatsuki and I made it a tradition after he died, but we couldn't this year since she's out of town a-and um . . ."

Orihime's face was hopeful, vibrant in its openness like a flower. Ichigo, usually so coarse and rough around the edges, felt himself immediately softening like melted butter left out in the sun. He looked at her flushed countenance, the way her slender fingers repeatedly fiddled with her skirt, and could easily tell it took a lot of courage for her to confide in him like this, much less ask him that question. Really, how could anyone say no to a face like that? Only a heartless bastard would fathom even trying, Ichigo thought.

And that is how the usually messy-haired, grouchy-faced, glaring-eyed teen came to ask, "Do you have the movie _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_?" with a completely straight face.

… …

Ichigo felt a wave of nostalgia hit him as he thought of the last time he had seen this movie. It was the night before Christmas, so many years ago — Karin, Yuzu and him had all been cuddled up with their mother and his bastard of a father on the couch. Isshin had lamented at the beginning of the film how Ichigo was _just_ like the Grinch. Little Ichigo had narrowed his eyes in conniption but bit his tongue, only holding himself back because his mother was present. When the Grinch's crystalline red heart ballooned in size and beat louder and louder as he raced down the snow-covered mountain on his sled, intent on returning all that he had stolen from the little town below, his mother had turned to look at him with her kind brown eyes and said proudly, "You are just like the Grinch, Ichigo. Because of your big, big heart."

Ichigo remembered being absolutely crushed when the movie ended, and it had been time to go to bed. But the warm, cozy feeling that had enveloped his heart because of his mother's compliment had stayed with him, long after sleep had cradled him in its convivial embrace.

He snorted. Time certainly had a way of flying by. Now, here he was in the present, watching the same movie but with another person, an important nakama all the same, just of an entirely different value.

"Kurosaki-kun?" The girl sitting next to him on the couch whispered in a gentle voice, regarding him with rounded eyes. "Yeah?" he replied back with a halfhearted smile, still swatting away remnants of his past. She beamed then, her happiness contagious as she burst out while pointing a single finger, "Look! It's you!"

Slightly puzzled, Ichigo glanced at the television, just in time to see the Grinch flying in his sled, on his way down the snow-capped mountain with his trusty dog Max to return all of the presents and trimmings he stole from Whoville. The memory of his mother's words rang crystal clear in his mind like an unchained melody, _"You are just like the Grinch, Ichigo. Because of your big, big heart." _Wide-eyed, all he could do was gawk at Orihime wordlessly, while she presented him with a very cordial grin; then she turned back to the television, its dull lights dancing over her sweet-looking visage. Eventually, he donned a tender smile, before tuning in to enjoy the last of the film himself.

"Well, it's getting pretty late . . ." Ichigo trailed off after the credits started rolling. He hesitated, appearing as though he didn't want to leave too soon.

Orihime looked out the window then, and gasped. "Ah! Will Kurosaki-kun be okay walking home in such scary weather?"

"Scary?" Ichigo echoed, slowing following her line of vision. His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets in stupefaction. The weather had turned into a blizzard, the outside world barely visible at all. The wind was blowing in gusts, and Ichigo could in fact hear it howling through the frost-laden glass. He made a face; he hated bad weather like this. It always was a pain to deal with, and just a huge inconvenience over all.

"Shit," he cursed underneath his breath. He hoped Inoue hadn't heard him; he usually tried to abstain from using crude language in her presence, but in that instance he couldn't help it.

"K-Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime called worriedly after him. Ichigo had jumped to his feet and was about halfway to the window, on his way to get a closer look at the snow falling towards the ground just outside her apartment when the lights suddenly flickered and went out.

He heard Orihime let out an involuntary cry of fear, and his heart acted as a heavy anchor, keeping him stock still as waves of adrenaline rushed over him. Ichigo turned on his heel towards the sound of her voice, momentarily blinded. It was pitch-dark darkness all around them, and he could not see anything. Ichigo wasn't scared of the dark — but this suddenness had caught him by surprise, and his breathing was a little fast as he tried to calm down. He blinked, willing his eyes to hurry up and adjust to the gloom already. "Inoue, are you all right?"

"Y-Yes! I'm okay . . ." Her exclamation was a bit wobbly sounding, but nothing could diminish the brilliant cheer she infused in it; Ichigo narrowed his eyes, wondering how candid she was truly being with him. Then he recalled what Rukia had told him earlier, _"__This is Orihime we're talking about, the girl who never complains about anything", _and he was stumbling hastily, trying to get to her. Ichigo could barely make out her stock still silhouette, standing with her arms folded protectively across her chest. He was at her side without another moment's hesitation, fumbling with comforting sentiments that faded away to wisps of nothingness on his lips. Words had never been his forte, so he settled for the next best thing; the orange-haired teen placed a hand, large and warm, gently on Orihime's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance.

Her head snapped up, and even in the near darkness he could make out her big and luminous gray eyes.

"Do you have any candles in the house?" Ichigo questioned, and when Orihime confirmed in an indecisive tone that there were some in the kitchen, he said, "That's good. All right, let's go get some candles."

She nodded and trudged slowly ahead of him, seeming to be less ill at ease now that Ichigo was nearer to her. Ichigo held out his hand against the wall, feeling as helpless and blind as a bat. The distance was slowly being closed as Orihime lead the silent procession down the seemingly expansive hallway.

Four more feet. Three more feet. Two more feet.

_One. Finally! _Ichigo thought.

He inched into the kitchen after Orihime. The two of them walked with careful, deliberate steps once their feet left the carpet to meet the linoleum floor. No soft moonlight or starlight poured in through the window from outside. It was admittedly creepy since even the streetlights were out. In fact, it looked like the whole apartment complex had lost power as well. Thankfully, there were at least some dull beams of light that filtered in the window as he passed it, making it easier for his sight to adjust.

"Sora always kept the emergency candles in the kitchen, and I never moved them . . . there should also be matches too!" Orihime said in that familiar, perky way of hers, which filled Ichigo with some relief, the tension draining away from his hunched shoulders. He watched as the auburn-haired girl felt her way along to the appropriate drawer, and then fumbled inside. "Here they are!" She came up with a couple of small candles and a large pillar candle. Orihime also located some matches in a box and carried them over to the rounded, kitchen table.

She placed one of the smaller candles in a holder, but Ichigo snatched up the match from her hands. "Kurosaki-kun!" she exclaimed childishly, an unhappy pout curving her rosebud mouth downwards. Ichigo merely shook his head, holding the match higher above her head.

"Oi! What kind of friend would I be, letting you play with fire like that? I'll take care of it," he told her gruffly, and a mournful whine fell from her lips; after a few unsuccessful attempts at jumping and grabbing the match from Ichigo's grasp, only to nearly trip, she eventually dropped her slender arms in an admission of defeat. But that woeful pout never left her ethereal features, evident in the light from the match as it was lit and sparked to life with a hiss.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, ignoring her as he lit the candle before blowing out the match. "If you stop pouting, I just might let you light one."

The wind gusted suddenly, rattling the windows; with a high-pitched squeak Orihime jumped towards him. Her small hands automatically reached out to bunch up the material of his shirt as she buried her face against his side. Her fingers trembled, tightening, as a visible shudder suffused through the entirety of her body. The small fire of the candlelight cast a warm glow across the shade of Orihime's hair and bathed her shoulders in a wash of gold. Curled in on herself, her face was obscured by a thick veil of burnished auburn hair, cascading from her periwinkle-glittering hairpins like a silken waterfall of caramel and honey.

His insides churned. He felt sick. Ichigo knew Orihime was probably putting on a brave face, but he did not realize how scared she actually was. Once again, he failed to understand her; consequently, he failed _her_. Licking his lips, he began to reach out a hand to touch her, not even sure how he would — then her muffled voice sounded, weak yet reminiscent as her lips moved slightly against him.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm so s-sorry . . . "

He frowned. "What are saying sorry for, Inoue? You've got nothing to apologize for — "

"But . . . but I do, Kurosaki-kun! I promised myself that I'd be stronger a-and never rely on you again y-yet . . . I . . ."

"Inoue," he said her name, softly, but he made no move to pressure or comfort her as the wheels in his head started to turn, leaving him flabbergasted. Ichigo did not know how to handle this. To hear such words fall from the normally cheerful and energetic girl threw him for a loop. Ichigo honestly had no idea she thought these things, let alone felt these things. With Rukia, it was different. Rukia _was_ different. She looked so diminutive and fragile in stature, but if he were to dare to even touch her in what could be seen as a gesture of comfort, she would punch him. Inoue would never do that. She was all sweetness and sunshine and smiles. So to see her look so down on herself made him frown deeply, his teeth grit.

"Inoue, look at me."

There was no force behind his words but the order was there, and she seemed to shrink into a shell, her whole body trembling even more.

"Inoue," he said again, more firmly, and this time she did look up, albeit slowly, lifting her head obediently. Orihime looked at him, sparkling streams trickling down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and staining her skirt, and she pressed her lips together to probably hold back a sob that was burning in the back of her throat. His head hurt. Hell, his heart hurt.

And then, Ichigo swallowed around the lump in his throat and told her, "Come here."

Doubt or something like it flickered through her gaze. Her eyes glimmered with tears, but when she saw him open his arms, she was surging forth and burying her face in his chest, a sob escaping her lips. Ichigo's one hand rose to the small of her back, then up, through the waves of her hair to rub against her shoulder. He felt the shiver that coursed through her body, almost unnoticeably. Orihime was soft under his touch, susceptible and easily broken, like the snowflakes just outside, crushable, glittery powder dancing to the ground beyond the walls of this apartment.

But Ichigo thought that maybe it was this vulnerability that drew him, that puzzled him. Here was the girl who had the power to defy time, a miracle, a special shining quality, an eternity. He knew she was strong, stronger than she gave herself credit for, but even the girl with a heart of gold, a smile like the sun, and the ability to summon fairies and an unbreakable shield needed encouragement sometimes. Pulling Orihime closer, Ichigo set his chin gingerly on top of her head, unconcerned by the dampness seeping through his shirt.

"I don't know who told you you're weak, or useless, but they're an idiot. You're none of those things, Inoue," Ichigo told her quietly. He swallowed, pausing. A small smile appeared upon his face, hovering over his lips. "In fact, you're one of the strongest people I know."

She hurriedly wiped her face. "I am not . . . as strong as you!" She added quickly, sniffling, and catching sight of Ichigo's expression. "Or Kuchiki-san —"

"Pfft. _Now _you're being an idiot."

Orihime shook her head, sniffling still. "B-But I am not — "

The scowl on Ichigo's forehead deepened, obviously not in the mood to tolerate her denial. He pulled back from her, hands moving to firmly grip her shoulders. Ichigo looked Orihime directly in the face, his intense brown eyes unwavering when he snapped, "Quit comparing yourself! _That_ is useless. If Rukia was here, she'd tell you the same exact thing. You're you, not Rukia, not Ishida, not Chad. You're Inoue Orihime." She looked taken aback at his usage of her full name, her lips dropping open in surprise. He pushed on, confessing, "And . . . I like _you _that way. I wouldn't change you for anything. You got that? And enough worrying about relying on me, too; you're my nakama, and I rely on you just as much."

He could see the plethora of tender emotions in her searching eyes, and she looked almost afraid to believe his words.

Ichigo didn't say anything after that. Instead, he listened to her hold her breath and watched her gaze slowly flicker downwards, then up, then down, and finally, back up to his face. Then, she smiled. And when her gaze is locked with his, it was shimmering a little too hard, but her smile was spreading and stunned and breathtaking beneath the stubborn wisps of her bangs.

"Kurosaki-kun . . . " Her voice cracked with barely controlled delight, her words laced with laughter that shined like wet crystals in her hazel eyes. "Is amazing!"

The smile on his own face spread just a little at the corners. "Damn right I am!" Ichigo did a double take, cursing his thoughtlessness. But when he saw that she did not seem to mind and instead was smiling wider, if that was at all possible, he let himself down easily. Though, the orange-haired teen silently vowed, he would not make it a habit. "Now, aren't you tired of standing around in the dark? I know I am."

"Hai! But u-um . . . may you please let go of me, first?" she questioned Ichigo, shyly, as she bit her bottom lip.

"Huh?" Ichigo blinked, slowly, only then realizing he was still holding onto her shoulders inflexibly. Unbidden, he felt blood rush to his cheeks at the same time Orihime's own face turned a vivid shade of crimson. His hands lingered for a few moments more before his brain caught up with him and he was able to loosen his grip, withdrawing his hands awkwardly to hang by his sides. She distanced herself from him then, rubbing fervently at her misty eyes. "Uh, sorry about that," he apologized inelegantly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Oh no! I'm fine!" Orihime insisted, waving her hands as if to emphasize her words. "I'm as resilient as a tank! Nothing can beat me! I'm strong, just like you said!" Ichigo sported a lopsided grin, nodding. "Yeah, you are, and don't forget it," he added.

… …

The two of them went to work lighting candles and placing them strategically throughout Orihime's small apartment. It was safe to say that even if the weather wasn't as bad as it was, Ichigo would not have left at any rate. The mental picture of Orihime being huddled up underneath her blankets and sitting alone in the dark just did not sit well with him. But then a more practical part of Ichigo's brain reminded him that she was probably used to this, used to being alone in her apartment that is, and that made him frown even more.

"Um . . . I was just wondering . . ." Her voice cut through his thoughts, and he looked at Orihime. She was wringing her hands, eyelashes brushing against her cheeks. She looked embarrassed about whatever it was she was going to ask. "Do you want to s-shower? The water should still be hot. I-I showered this morning, so I'm okay, but . . ."

Ichigo scratched the back of head. "Yeah, actually, that doesn't sound like a bad idea. I just wouldn't have anything to change into. Guess I could just — "

"Oh you don't have to worry about that! I know just the thing!" He quirked an orange eyebrow but didn't say anything as he watched her start digging through her closet. Considering their vast differences in sizes, Ichigo sincerely doubted the girl owned anything he could fit into. When Orihime released a victorious, "Aha!" his eyebrow rose even higher; seconds later, she handed him a black sweatshirt, and a pair of gray draw-string pants. They both were definitely not petite sized.

Blushing, she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and said by way of explanation, "I-I hope you don't think it's weird . . . but I kept some of my brother's things to remember him by, including some his clothes. I like to wear them when . . . I'm at home. They're very comfortable, and remind me of him! If you don't want to wear them though, um . . . I u-understand."

"It's not weird." Ichigo shook his head. Relieved, the dark cloud hanging over Orihime dissipated and she beamed in earnest. Ichigo smirked, playing with her a little, "I'd actually find it weird if it _wasn't_ your brother's clothes."

"Ehehehe . . . you would?" She laughed delicately. Again, she was blushing. The rosy hue that warmed Orihime's normally pale pallor made him wonder; then he squashed down any thoughts he deemed treading on dangerous and not to mention highly inappropriate territory, and shook his head again, but more vigorously. If she was involved with someone else, it was not really any of Ichigo's business to go asking questions. He wouldn't be nosy or overbearing when it came to her dating life — only if the jerk had the gall to disrespect or worse, break her heart. Then he would use his fists to do the talking, and teach the punk a much needed lesson.

In all honesty though, Ichigo could not really imagine how or why anyone would have it in them to hurt someone as caring and self-sacrificing as Orihime. That combined with her natural cute looks, anyone who dated her would be one lucky guy.

_Oh shit,_ Ichigo thought. Now that line of thinking was definitely treading into dangerous territory.

"Well . . . I'll go shower now," he muttered, awkwardly, and Orihime nodded, saying she'd get out an old futon and some blankets so it'd be ready by the time he was done. He uttered a gruff thanks and spared her crooked smile before closing the bathroom door behind him, breathing in a sigh of relief.

… …

Ichigo dried off briskly, causing his damp hair to stick up in all directions like a porcupine. It was a good thing he took rather quick showers, because the hot water ran out just as he was finishing. Pulling on the clean sweatshirt over his head, Ichigo peeked into the mirror at himself. One of the candles was burning on the counter, and casting a soft, yellow glow that glimmered in the small bathroom. Meeting the face of grumpy-looking, brown-eyed teen with orange hair spiking up everywhere, he griped aloud, "What _was_ that?"

Of course, his question was referencing a certain mutinous thought he had had earlier. Naturally his reflection did not answer back and as he tugged on the pair of loose, gray sweatpants over his hips, Ichigo's scowl deepened even more so.

It did not take a rocket scientist to deduce that Orihime was, in fact, very good looking. She had boys left and right falling all over themselves for her. Her personality only made her that much more of a catch. As far as Ichigo knew, she did not like anyone, and was always gracious and sweet whenever she turned an admirer down. So Ichigo thinking she had natural cute looks was simply an observation, a statement of the obvious, unless you were blind. Right?

He nodded at his reflection. Of course that made sense. It was not like he felt any sort of _attraction_ to her or anything. Just the thought was ridiculous.

When Ichigo exited the bathroom at last, he gaped at the sight waiting for him.

Orihime was donning a pair of pink cotton pajamas, sitting on the futon laid out beside her bed. A bright smile lit up her face upon her spotting him. "Everything's ready, Kurosaki-kun!" she chirped cheerfully. "The bed is all yours!"

" . . . Inoue, if you think I'm kicking you out of your bed, then you're wrong. _I'm_ sleeping on futon."

She pouted, her bottom lip trembling with dismay. "B-But that isn't acceptable! You're my _guest_!"

He growled, "Do I have to come over there and move you to your bed myself?" Ichigo's dark brown eyes gleamed as he took a menacing step towards her, and Orihime scooted away from him, her doe eyes widened. "You wouldn't!" she said, having total faith that the orange-haired boy would not do such a thing. But when he started stalking towards her with quicker, purposeful steps, she squeaked loudly and jumped onto the bed, hiding underneath the covers. "N-No fair!" was her muffled complaint from underneath the downy, purple blanket, and Ichigo laughed, settling onto the futon.

"Yeah, well, I don't play fair," he shot back, a smirk of triumph dominating his features. Ichigo turned onto his side, letting his eyelids flutter closed. "Goodnight, Inoue."

Orihime's response was light and airy, "Goodnight, Kurosaki-kun." Even though he could not see her face from where he was laying, he was sure she was smiling sweetly. He could imagine it so clearly in his head. Gentle, gray eyes crinkled, dark lashes brushing the skin of her slightly flushed cheeks, and a soft smile gracing her pink lips. It was an image that made falling asleep somehow that much easier.

Something, no, someone was calling his name. "Ano, K-Kurosaki-kun?"

How long had it been? Seconds, minutes, hours? That was the first thing that popped into Ichigo's mind when he abruptly was thrust from dreamland into wakefulness. "W-What . . . ?" he groused tiredly, voice coming out thick and gruff from sleep. When he felt more alert, his eyes snapped wide open, and saw that Orihime was leaning over the side of her bed, a waterfall of her long, auburn hair spilling down as she gazed at him with a bashful expression.

"Are . . . are you awake now, Kurosaki-kun?"

Ichigo blinked at her dumbly. "Yeah." He stared as her cheeks pinkened and her hazel orbs shifted to the side. He cleared his throat, and asked, "Is there something wrong, Inoue?"

"Um . . . would you mind . . . ah . . ." Her blush started to spread rapidly and Ichigo's brows dipped as he tried to figure out what she wanted to ask. It was then he noticed that Orihime's blush wasn't just from embarrassment; her breath was rising in wispy, white puffs of air. She had her arms across her chest and folded around her midsection defensively. Her small, white teeth were chattering, though she tried to hide it. It was like Ichigo was doused with a bucket of icy water, realization forming.

"You're cold?" he questioned her, his query placid and concerned. He sat up, staring at her directly as he waited for an answer, and she nodded shyly. "I . . . I'm sorry . . ." she whispered softly, as if she was ashamed of herself for confessing such a thing to him. "I'm just so c-cold . . . I-I can't sleep . . ."

Ichigo felt his face heat up. After her soft but hesitant admission, it did not take him long to figure out what she was trying but failing to ask him, and he could've kicked himself for never thinking of it before.

"You want me to sleep . . . with you?" He face palmed, realizing how horrible that sounded, and Orihime started flailing her arms frantically, eyes bulging. "To warm you up!" he quickly got out in a hurried tangent, eager to reassure her he was not lecherous pervert looking for an opportunity to feel her up in bed, or worse —

"Ah! I'm sorry! I'll try to sleep! I don't want to be a bother to you!"

"You're _not _being a bother." What was bothersome was the fact she was so damn worried about inconveniencing him. But that was Inoue's way, he knew; always worried so much about the happiness of others, including Ichigo himself, and never nearly enough about her own well-being. She was nice like that, too nice, if you asked the orange-haired boy. Knowing that, and recalling her tears earlier on in the night due to her fear of the snowstorm and surfacing insecurity, only furthered his steely resolve to take on what she viewed as a burden: herself.

Slowly, Ichigo rose from the futon and it was like the world shifted on its axis.

There was no way Ichigo was going to let Inoue see how nervous he was at the prospect of being so physically close to her. He saw her breathe in sharply, her body growing stiff as he crawled into bed with her. He tried his hardest to fight the blood that was rising in his cheeks as he regarded her with a look that left no room for argument. Her mouth fell open, as if she thought of just doing that, but then she closed it and made room for him, her delicate features flushed like an overgrown cherry. She turned over, eyes trained on the wall no doubt as she tried to come to grips with this situation. He didn't like making her nervous or uncomfortable, but if it meant keeping her freezing and turning into an Inoue-shaped icicle, then so be it.

He only hesitated for a moment before folding his arms around her, pulling her firmly against his broad chest, and he could feel her whole body tense up even more, going rigid. Never had Ichigo held someone like this, and the feeling was absolutely foreign, but embarrassingly enough, not altogether unpleasant. Her back was pressed against him, his head on top of hers. Ichigo was careful about how he held her, not wanting to accidentally brush against an inappropriate place.

When he realized she was still tensed up, he told her gently, "Inoue, breathe. Just breathe."

"I . . . I-I am breathing," she whispered in acute confusion. When Orihime shook her head, and did not say anything else, he sighed, a soft, quiet sound. "You're not worried I'll try anything, are you?" When she let out a high-pitched gasp and stuttered out a shaky yet hard, "N-No! Of course not!" Ichigo replied, "Good. Then you have no reason to be nervous, right? Just try to relax and get some rest."

There was a fine trembling that overtook Orihime's smaller frame. She inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled again. Orihime's breathing began to slowly steady, and her eyes stopped clenching shut as tightly. Her breath only slightly shuddered as she let herself lean more into Ichigo, and then it took a few eternal moments to steady it again. The stark differences between them were so obvious; he was all sharp lines and hard edges, while she was all soft curves and warm slopes. And the only reason he was not hearing his thundering heart was because he could hear hers. Lashes began to kiss porcelain, smooth skin more naturally, her full lips pursed softly, and she became so still Ichigo wondered if she had drifted off to sleep.

He watched her. And he studied everything he already knew about Orihime, his gaze lingering on the contours of the dainty features of her face, allowing a smile to tease the corners of his lips as he indulged in just observing her. Her face was pale in the muted light, sleepiness painting faint shadows beneath her eyes. Soft lines of worry creased her forehead and the breaths that escaped from between those lips were still a tad too fast. But then a brilliant smile changed all of that, and it was breathtaking. Just the sight of it made the warmth inside him spread like a golden wave.

Ichigo froze as he felt the caramel-haired girl shift against him, a mortified shade of pink blooming at the thought of being caught staring.

"Kurosaki-kun . . ." Orihime said, her voice low and soft-spoken. "Thank you."

Not expecting that, Ichigo frowned a little, his head tilting in a questioning angle and then watched as bleary eyes fluttered open, as Orihime turned her head to look at him, positively glowing even in her half-awake state. Ichigo could feel the sincere gratitude radiate from every pore of her skin as she murmured such innocent words.

"Thank you . . . for being my friend."

Ichigo stopped again, holding his breath once more, as a pang entered his chest. He willed it to leave; he didn't want to know what he was feeling. He didn't have a right to feel it at _all_. But it was there, and it was undeniable.

"Shhh," Ichigo quieted her, forcing himself to smile back even as his head spun wildly. "Go to sleep, Inoue."

Sleep silently washed over her, ushering her into dreamland, but Ichigo was not able to follow her. Awake in the bed that he was sharing with a sleeping Orihime, Ichigo continued to watch her, a mixture of curiosity, shock and bewilderment painting dazed flickers in his eyes. His heart thudded loud and ceaseless in his ears. The rhythm echoed, growing by the second and with it the soft sound of her voice in his memory as she spoke words that he hadn't known would keep him up all tonight, and the heart-stopping realization that shattered his restraint and resolve.

There was simply too much going on in Ichigo's muddled mind, but one thing was certain: He was without an unquestionable, shadow of a doubt, attracted to Inoue Orihime.

… …

The sunlight rippled and glowed like streams of goldenrod and tangerine as it filtered through the blinds. Ichigo awoke to that inviting light and warmth, and was too comfortable to bring himself to get up just yet. The lull of the morning embraced him, enticing him to further allow his boneless body to sink against the mattress. If he could, he would have lay in peace forever, but as he came more and more alert, his ears picked up on the whispery sound of breathing, the dip of the mattress as a foreign weight pressed down, brushing against him. Memories flooded through his mind from the night before, and Ichigo's eyes abruptly snapped open.

His heart stuttered in his chest. _Inoue._

She must have turned around in her sleep, because now she was facing him directly. Her arms pillowed her head as she slumbered. She looked peaceful as she slept, stubborn strands of hair brushing against cheek and pooling on the crisp, white pillow in a mass of shimmering silk. Ichigo watched the sunshine paint faint shadows across Orihime's face, tentatively recalling the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind when sleep evaded him, leaving him alone with his tumultuous realization.

Ichigo blushed, grasping how close they were. He did not dare to move a muscle, not wanting to awaken the sleeping girl. He contented himself to simply lay there, staring at Orihime in silence; his mind retreated elsewhere, fingers twitching, as he lost himself for several moments.

Suddenly, her eyelashes fluttered. Orihime came to leisurely, blearily, and Ichigo was unwittingly drawn in by the shifting hues of opaline and silver. She stared at him uncomprehendingly, and shocked into silence, he stared right back. A vivid crimson started to fill her face, and Ichigo knew for a fact he was blushing as well. Then, it was like an electric jolt ran through his body, propelling him away from her at the same time she gasped and scooted in the opposite direction, bunching up the sheets around her.

It wasn't a surprise when Ichigo ended up falling on the ground with a loud thud.

"Kurosaki-kun!" she cried, promptly moving to lean over the edge of the bed and gape. Her eyes were wide in her pale face. "A-Are you all right? I-I'm so sorry," she rushed to apologize, offering her hand to help him, but Ichigo declined, his pride feeling like it had been damaged enough as it was.

The orange-haired teen sat up quickly, pink-faced from his embarrassment, only slightly grimacing. "I'm fine."

"Um . . ." Orihime let a veil of her hair cascade to try to hide her mortified expression, but it was easily visible, what with her intense blushing. "I didn't mean to s-startle you. I was just . . . so . . . s-surprised."

"Yeah, uh . . . same here."

Awkward silence commenced, and they could not bring themselves to look at each other, so discomfited as they were by their former close physical proximity. Orihime bit her lip, playing with a lock of hair, and Ichigo kept his face turned to the side, silently willing for his flushed countenance to diminish. He shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, then, he noticed what had been so blatant from the moment he awoke to the warm sunlight streaming inside.

"Hey," Ichigo said, and Orihime peeked up at him, curious. "It finally stopped snowing." At his words, Orihime let out an excited noise and hopped to her feet, following Ichigo towards the window.

It was true. The freakish snowstorm had finally ended, and the sun had come out. Ichigo looked down at Orihime to see her reaction and could not help the small, wry smile that tugged at his lips at her awe-struck expression. She didn't even notice his staring, too caught up was she in admiring the beauty of the outside world. Brushing her fingers against the glass chilled by the winter wind, she looked positively spellbound. Ichigo let his eyes follow her line of vision to fall on the scenery.

Now that the worst was over, as far as the eye could see, all of the land was coated by a silver garland of snowfall that glittered like diamonds. Powdery flakes picked up by the wind whirled and twirled in abstract patterns, almost dancing. The expansive bed of white appeared almost magical, like it was the resting place of clouds and dreams and hope and brilliance. It'd been a long time since Ichigo had felt this kind of feeling, like all the world was a wonderful winter wonderland, full of nothing short of pixie dust and splendor. In fact, he hadn't been able to admire the snow like this since his childhood, during the happier days when his mother was still alive. Somehow, Ichigo knew that the credit went to the smiling girl standing beside him.

. . . or was standing beside him anyway.

Ichigo dragged his eyes away from the window, and saw Orihime standing in front of the light switch with a contemplative expression on her face. "Mou, do you think the lights will work now?"

He shrugged and said, "Only one way to find out." When she still looked hesitant to flip it, he rolled his eyes and walked over; without hesitation, he turned on the light and lo and behold there was florescent light. He grinned at Orihime. "Looks like the power's back on."

"That means you'll be leaving soon, ne?"

"Yeah. I didn't bring my phone with me, so it's probably best I get going soon before Yuzu cries a river and Karin comes over here to knock me upside the head for worrying her." He rolled his eyes at the image that popped to his head, and Orihime nodded in agreement, a soft smile curling her lips. "Un! I understand . . ." There was a barely detectable hint of sadness but it was there, lingering underneath her words. Ichigo stared at Orihime with his brows scrunched together in thought, debating if he should say what he was thinking of saying. Should he? Would she even say yes?

"Inoue?" Ichigo licked his lips when he caught her attention. Orihime had already started making the bed. She looked up at him while in the process of folding the blanket. "Uh . . . do you think maybe you'd want to come over my house on Christmas day?"

"I . . . I-I don't know."

He shot her an unbelieving glance, and then he shrugged the comment off, trying to hide his disappointment. "It's all right to say no, Inoue. You don't have to say yes and spare my feelings." Now Ichigo just felt stupid. Why would she want to spend the holiday with him, anyway? For all he knew, she already had plans. Orihime was a popular girl, right? It was hard to imagine someone as well-liked as her would spend Christmas cooped up in her apartment all alone.

Orihime, noticing the subtle drop of his head, and the way he was unconsciously clenching his hands into fists down by his sides, gasped. "Y-You misunderstand! It's not that I do not want to! It's just . . . I'd feel like I was . . . intruding on your quality time with your family," she said softly.

Realizing his mistake, Ichigo wanted to face palm. Of course she was worried about something like that. This was Inoue he was talking to! With a disgruntled sigh, he marched over to the dismayed girl who was tactfully avoiding his stormy gaze, and placed his hands firmly on either side of her shoulders. Orihime was forced her to drop what she was doing and meet his eyes directly, inhaling sharply at the way he was holding onto her. He frowned worriedly, easing his hold, but spoke firmly. "Inoue, it's okay to be selfish every once in a while. And besides, I wouldn't invite you if there wasn't room to spare. My family would be thrilled to have you as a guest, trust me."

"Well, if . . . if Kurosaki-kun says so, then okay," Orihime agreed merrily, beaming from ear to ear.

She saw him off after that, waving cheerily at Ichigo as he descended the stairs. He trudged through the snow with purpose, somehow feeling lighter on his feet even if he nearly slipped on patches of black ice a couple of times. When he came home, he was greeted by, as predicted: a crying Yuzu, an angry Karin, and an overly enthusiastic Isshin. Most unsurprisingly of all, when he swung open his bedroom door, he saw a certain petite shinigami casually reclining on his bed, reading yet another shoujo manga. When Ichigo walked over to take a peek at what she was reading, he made a face. "Pfft. I don't know how you can read such trash."

He narrowly avoided a kick to his face. "Oi! Calm down!" Rukia dared him to insult her tastes in reading one last time in an especially hostile voice, and Ichigo merely rolled his eyes before sitting down next to her. Sapphire irises flashed upwards to sneak a glance at the unusually quiet orange-haired boy, before flicking back downwards to appreciate sparkly roses and the oblivious main protagonist being gazed at from afar by the love-struck heroine. Seeing such a lovey dovey image put a sappy grin on Rukia's face. Then, she questioned, "Are you glad you visited her now?"

Ichigo nodded, still unnaturally quiet. He appeared to almost be lost in his thoughts. "I am. Thanks for suggesting it, Rukia."

Her eyes widened at his words, and then, slowly, a gentle smile curved the corners of her lips. "Don't mention it, Ichigo." She paused, and added with a smirk, "Just don't screw it up."

A vein began to throb in his temple. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing . . ." She trailed off, before muttering underneath her breath in a disbelieving tone, "Idiot."

"If you've got something to say, then just say it!" Ichigo thundered, twitching with anger as he held himself back from throttling Rukia, but just _barely_. Goddamn the little shinigami really tried his temper sometimes! Rukia did not even have the nerve to look up at him, too absorbed in her precious shoujo manga. She turned a page, that insufferable little smirk still residing on her facial features.

"Why bother? It would just fly over your head, anyway."

The two friends bickered back and forth, though it lacked any true animosity or ill feelings. It was just how they were. Once things settled down, Ichigo sat at his desk and tried to get to work on a project he had been assigned over the break; but it was really hard to focus when his line of sight kept straying to his window to stare out at the snow, recalling the stormy night before, and the girl he had spent it with.

Christmas day arrived quickly, with it even more snow, alongside a certain honey-haired teenaged girl Ichigo may or may not have been anxiously waiting for since he woke up.

"Merry Christmas, Kurosaki-kun!"

Jingle bells, Christmas tunes, sleigh rides, and silver garlands were in her voice, and with it the promise of forming new worthwhile holiday and gingerbread memories making Ichigo smile as stepped aside to let her in. Because if anyone was the embodiment of Christmas spirit and good will towards your fellow man, it was Inoue, plain as day in the way she moved, her green dress-skirt swishing around her ankles, the way she smiled, the warm upward curve of her lips adding a radiant glow to her face. The white snowflakes in her hair, and decorating the edges of her eyelashes, all glimmered, only serving to further highlight her natural beauty. She was flushed from the cold, the tips of her nose, ears, and cheeks painted with rose.

She smelled of fresh air and winter cold and snowfall as she launched herself into Ichigo's arms once he shut the door. And he blushed and coughed but lowered his head, chin resting on her hair as she hugged him tighter and murmured that she was so happy to share this day with him and his family, that she really, really was grateful for him inviting her, but was he _sure_ she was not intruding?

"Merry Christmas to you too, Inoue," Ichigo said sincerely. "And no, you're not. Hopefully you don't regret coming here once you see how crazy my family is . . ."

Orihime pulled back, her face aghast. "N-Never!" She shook her head, caramel locks swaying back and forth. "I think that's . . . impossible, K-Kurosaki-kun." Orihime looked down bashfully, biting her lip. After a moment, she continued, "To spend Christmas with you is . . . it's . . . something I never could regret." Then she looked up at him with shiny eyes eager for things to come, giving him a face-splitting, dazzlingly bright smile.

That was when Ichigo knew probably, no, indefinitely, absolutely, that he was going to fall for this girl — that is, if he had not _already_.

_dedicated to kati/mute button_

Omgosh! That was so long, wasn't it? This fic just kind of ran away from me and snowballed from a simple premise to a monster of an uber festive fluffy/cheesy story. I did contemplate breaking it up into two chapters or so, but overall I feel like it flows better as is; still, anyone who actually sat through the whole thing and read from beginning to finish, you have my utmost respect. xD; Hopefully it was at least somewhat enjoyable! Feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think. I definitely wouldn't mind writing more for this adorkable ship in the future~! Ooh and one last thing: I'd like to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Especially the wonderful girl I wrote this for. :)

**E›** tifa .


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